


I Can't Contain This Anymore, I'm All Yours

by PersephoneJones



Series: The Long Way Home [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, OKAY HERE'S THE SMUT, POV Louis, Top Harry, basically pure filth, with a little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 14:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneJones/pseuds/PersephoneJones
Summary: At that moment Harry catches Louis’ eye again. Instead of simply looking, this time, Harry breaks away from the crowd of people and rapidly crosses the dance floor, not breaking stride until he reaches the bar and sinks onto the neighboring bar stool. Louis freezes. Harry’s knees are pressed, hard, against his thigh and Harry’s hand is on the small of his back and this is way closer than they’re supposed to be, but Louis can’t seem to find it in himself to care right now.Harry leans in close. “Wanna fuck you,” he says in a low growl that goes straight to Louis’ dick.Or, the time Harry celebrates his and Louis' reunion by taking control, and Louis doesn't mind at all.





	I Can't Contain This Anymore, I'm All Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, lovelies. Here's the final installment in The Long Way Home series. I told you there was utter filth on the horizon, and here it is. This started out as gratuitous smut but then I decided it would make a good ending point for a series. Enjoy.

It’s supposed to be a fun night out, all the boys, together with the band, their entourage, and a carefully curated group of invited partygoers, at a club that management has bought out for the night. They are meant to be drinking and dancing the night away, blowing off steam before their final round of press and live appearances in America…maybe forever. Louis isn’t quite so sure it’s something he wants to celebrate, actually, but far be it from him to turn down free drinks and raising hell with his mates. Still, he’s been a little pensive all evening, even as he jokes and laughs. To try and take his mind off of things, he starts a food fight with Liam using the garnish tray from the bar. Up until now, he’d had no idea maraschino cherries would hurt that much if you pelted them hard enough at someone’s face. He makes a mental note of this discovery, for later. Not that he has any earthly idea of when or how the knowledge might come in handy, but life is unpredictable.

When they’d arrived at the club, Louis had a vague notion of staying by Harry’s side for the duration of the party, but that was nothing more than a pipe dream, he now realizes. Harry, being Harry, had slipped away after about an hour to go make the rounds. Louis is fairly certain Harry’s goal is to speak to every last person in the club. Louis is slightly disappointed, but not at all surprised. Anyway, it isn’t as though he and Harry can dance together, or even do anything that appears excessively chummy, let alone spend the evening with their hands all over each other, as is the case more often than not these days when they’re away from prying eyes. Liam and Niall are getting tired of it, or claim to be, anyhow. But Louis has seen the two of them exchanging smiles when they think he and Harry aren’t looking. He knows they are secretly pleased — relieved, even — that the long and emotionally-taxing saga has come to a happy resolution. Still, that doesn’t stop them loudly complaining, jeering, or making rude noises when they catch Louis and Harry kissing…or more, as has happened a couple of times. (Niall is especially fond of making fart noises, either authentic and manufactured, whenever the pair start to stray into what he considers “soppy” territory. It’s a trial, but they’ve learned to live with it.) That aside, fully 90% of the party attendees are not part of the boys’ inner circle, and a good portion of them are people the boys have never even met before. And so appearances must be kept up.

There is no worry about what Liam or Niall or anyone else is thinking just now, though, because Louis is obediently (although begrudgingly) following the rules. Tired of small talk and selfies, and of not touching Harry, he is sat at the bar, idly swirling the beer in his glass around, watching the foam spin. He’s turned the bar stool so it faces the room, and, every few minutes, he scans the crowd and picks out Harry, sees how far around the venue he’s circulated. Louis assumes that Pop Star Harry is too busy visiting to notice he’s being watched. But, as Louis takes a swig of beer, eyes trained on his boy, Harry looks straight at him and they lock gazes. A smile creeps across Harry’s face, a smile of a type that, had it been Liam, Louis would interpret to mean he’s about to perpetuate some type of fuckery that will require swift and merciless retribution. Pranks are not one of the things Louis normally has to be concerned about Harry doing in public, though. Breaking into Shania Twain songs in Tesco? Yes. Asking audience members’ names from the stage and then taking ages to figure out what the person is saying…and still getting it wrong half the time? Sure. Louis has come to expect that sort of behavior, and finds it rather endearing, if he’s being honest. But he has no fear of marinated fruit attack from Harry, so he’s not worried about the smile…just intensely curious as to what is going on inside that head of his.

Harry seems to be making his way around the room quite a bit faster now and Louis continues to subtly observe him. The next time Harry makes eye contact, he doesn’t smile. He gives Louis a piercing, intense stare that lasts for a full five seconds before he turns to speak to someone else. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, the same scene replays at least four times. At first Louis isn’t sure how to feel about the intense gazes, but somewhere in the middle of the third time he settles on “turned on.” There is something in Harry’s eyes that Louis isn’t used to seeing. It’s dangerous, somehow, and it’s exciting. Louis abandons his beer and openly watches Harry’s every move, waiting for the next look. He feels like his whole body is on high alert; his senses are tingling, and he is constantly aware of Harry’s location, even when he’s out of eyesight. Louis is waiting for something, expecting it. He just isn’t sure what it is.

At that moment Harry catches Louis’ eye again. Instead of simply looking, this time, Harry breaks away from the crowd of people and rapidly crosses the dance floor, not breaking stride until he reaches the bar and sinks onto the neighboring bar stool. Louis freezes. Harry’s knees are pressed, hard, against his thigh and Harry’s hand is on the small of his back and this is way closer than they’re supposed to be, but Louis can’t seem to find it in himself to care right now.

Harry leans in close. “Wanna fuck you,” he says in a low growl that goes straight to Louis’ dick. Louis’ brain blanks out for a moment and he fish-mouths at Harry before recovering valiantly. “Yeah…yes, please,” Louis breathes (in a very masculine way; he absolutely does not squeak), eliciting a cheeky, full-dimple grin and a wink from the curly-haired demon beside him. Fucking Styles. From banana cupcake to wanton sex god and back in 0.6 seconds. Louis needs a neck brace. “You’re a menace,” he mutters, even as he scans the room for potential escape routes. Before Harry can speak the innocent, “Who, me?” that’s clearly forming on his lips, Louis spots an exit and grabs Harry by the hand, yanking him hard off the bar stool and dragging him toward the door. Louis thinks vaguely that he should probably apologize for that later, but there are more important matters at hand. Places to go, dicks to ride. This is hardly the time to worry about social niceties.

Louis crashes through the door, still dragging Harry, and looks around frantically. He spots a cab sitting at the curb and reaches it in four steps, wrenching the door open and nearly shouting the name of the hotel even as he’s climbing in the back seat. Harry follows with a smirk on his face that Louis hates and adores at the same time. It’s got just the right amount of atypical smug swagger to make it sexy, but it also means that Harry understands perfectly the effect he’s having on Louis, and Louis is too used to playing it cool to be comfortable with that. He works so hard to preserve a veneer of unruffled sarcasm and humor, and it very rarely cracked before he met Harry. Louis wants to suck that smirk right off Harry’s face. But now is not the time, now they are in a cab speeding down busy streets with a driver who keeps sneaking glances at them in the rearview mirror, like he thinks they look familiar and is trying to place them. Louis grits his teeth and stares out the window with a forced casual expression. Which is difficult when the semi he’s currently sporting is pressing against the flies of his suddenly way-too-skinny jeans. His fingers pluck hyperactively at their seams. Suddenly, Harry’s left hand covers Louis’ right, stilling it. Louis continues staring out the window, but relaxes slightly at the calming touch. That is, until Harry’s fingers slowly curl around Louis’ hand, and Louis feels his hand being pulled across the seat…up over Harry’s thigh…and finally being pressed firmly against Harry’s crotch. Harry is hard. Very, very hard, and Louis briefly considers the ramifications of throwing caution to the wind and going face-down in Harry’s lap right here in this automobile. The one, small part of his brain whose blood supply hasn’t been diverted to his dick tells him not to do it, and when he catches the curious eye of the cab driver in the mirror yet again, Louis knows he has to keep it together until they reach their hotel room.

It’s a good plan, but it turns out to be easier thought than done. Louis, while attempting to behave like a responsible adult, is not made of stone, and has therefore neglected to remove his hand from Harry’s grasp. Harry still has Louis’ hand firmly pressed to his boner, which is difficult enough to play off. But then Harry…goddamned Harry Edward Styles…begins jerking his hips upward in soft, tiny thrusts against Louis’ hand. Louis feels his eyes glaze over from the effort of keeping his face neutral. He risks a glance over at Harry and is immediately sorry. Harry has apparently successfully stifled any pesky inhibitions about public sex that he may have started with. His brow is furrowed, his eyes are closed, and he’s biting his lip as he rubs off against Louis’ hand. Jesus tap-dancing Christ. Louis tears his eyes away and forces his attention back on the passing scenery, considering whether death would be preferable to the tabloids back home screaming “FREE WILLY: BOYBAND MEMBERS’ MEMBERS DISPLAYED IN TITILLATING TAXICAB LIASON!” It really depended on how quick the death would be, he decided.

Harry suddenly stops his obscene movements and lets go of Louis’ hand. Louis hides a grin. He knows, without having to ask, that Harry has brought himself too close to coming right there in the cab, and has stopped because he has other plans for how the night is going to end. The possibility of what those plans might be resounds, loudly, in Louis’ head and brings his focus back to his own dick, which is indignantly protesting its confinement behind two layers of clothing. He wants to unzip his zipper to relieve some of the pressure but he’s afraid that Harry will interpret the action as permission to do whatever the hell he wants, and Louis knows better than to give Harry that kind of power. Louis grits his teeth and tries to think of unsexy things and _goddammit, can this guy not drive any faster, doesn’t he understand there’s a penis emergency back here??_

After what seems like an eternity, the cab pulls up in front of the hotel, Harry throws a handful of cash at the driver (he’ll later figure out there was at least one $100 bill in the bunch, but decides that what happens next is totally worth it) and he all but drags Louis out of the vehicle. Ever conscious of the eyes all around them, the boys separate and walk into the hotel at a distance befitting a couple of bro pals doing “no homo” bro things and definitely not holding jackets in front of their crotches to hide their raging erections. There are security cameras in the elevators and halls, so the two are careful to maintain a facade of casual dignity all the way to the door of Harry’s room, where they nonchalantly let themselves in and slam the door closed behind them.

Louis has barely turned the safety lock when Harry is on him, turning him around, shoving him against the wall. Harry’s hands curl around Louis’ biceps and he pushes his knee between Louis’ thighs. “Been thinking about fucking you all night,” Harry rasps, his voice impossibly lower and more gravelly with lust. “All that time you were chatting up people and laughing and being friendly, all I could think about was sinking my cock into that gorgeous arse.” Louis has heard the term “jaw-dropping” but has never literally experienced the sensation, himself, until this moment. He stares up at this new Harry, this unexpectedly dominant, assertive Harry, and genuinely cannot form a single, coherent sentence. Instead, he twists his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulls him down into a kiss, sliding his tongue desperately into Harry’s mouth. He’s rewarded by a grunt of satisfaction from Harry, who deepens the kiss and presses his leg harder between Louis’. Louis can’t help but rock his hips forward, grinding his aching dick on Harry’s thigh. “Gonna fuck you so good, Lou,” Harry whispers, his hands sliding down to Louis’ hips to help Louis grind down harder. “Gonna make you come while you’re on my cock.” At that Louis musters all his willpower and shoves Harry away with both hands, before he comes apart right there, rubbing off on Harry’s leg, still in his jeans. Harry’s wicked half-grin indicates he knows exactly what’s going on. “Get your kit off,” Harry orders and it’s a mark of how far gone he is that Louis doesn’t even try to give him a difficult time, doesn’t try to make him work for it. He just strips off obediently. Harry, instead of joining Louis, stands there and watches with a predatory look in his eye. Louis has a brief moment to wonder just exactly how and when the balance of power shifted before Harry steps close. One hand reaches around to grasp Louis’ bum and the other begins to lazily stroke him off. Louis tilts his head up and his lips meet Harry’s, gently at first but quickly turning dirty as Louis takes control of the kiss and fucks his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry allows it for a moment but then pulls away, separating from Louis entirely. He levels Louis with a gaze and Louis knows the roles had nearly reversed during that kiss. Harry, though, it seems, is on a mission.

“I want you to walk to the bed. I want you to bend over, put your hands on the mattress, and spread your feet apart,” Harry says firmly, maybe more firmly than Louis has ever heard him speak before. Awed, but also rock-hard and desperate, Louis does as he’s told. He places his palms on the cool white sheet and shuffles his feet until his legs are wide open. With Harry behind him, still fully clothed and watching intently, Louis feels completely exposed. What’s shocking to him is how much he likes this feeling. He wants Harry to touch him, to use him however he sees fit, to tell him what to do and where to go…and maybe even when to come. Louis’ cock twitches at the thought. Before he can fully consider it, though, he feels Harry move in close behind him and hears the familiar snap of a bottle opening. Louis closes his eyes and waits, knowing what’s coming. Harry’s slick finger finds Louis’ hole and traces the rim.

“Are you gonna be good for me? Take two of my fingers? Maybe three?” Harry purrs in a low voice. Louis’ heart is pounding, his mind is racing; it’s almost too much, and also not enough. “Yes,” he breathes, “Anything you want,” and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes he’s submitted entirely. Whatever Harry wants to do to him, Louis is willing. He doesn’t just want it, he needs it. After all these years of denying himself this pleasure, with the only person in the world who could make him feel this way, he needs Harry take him apart, to reduce him to a spent, shivering mess. He needs Harry to consume him entirely in order to erase the ghosts of the past.

Harry gently begins to ease one finger into Louis’ ass, slowly stretching the hole. He works up a rhythm and makes sure Louis is ready before adding a second finger. The old, familiar burn, that Louis has never quite been able to forget, radiates through his body, and it hurts and feels good in equal measure. After a few minutes, Louis finds himself rocking back on Harry’s fingers as the pain slowly fades into pleasure. Harry eases his fingers out and opens the bottle of lube again. He leans down, lips brushing Louis’ ear, and whispers, “Can you take three?” and Louis responds so quickly he nearly stumbles over the words. “Yes, I…fuck, Harry. Just do it. Do it now,” and then Harry is working a well-lubricated third finger into Louis’ tight hole. Harry slowly works Louis open. Louis can only pant and moan; his brain seems to be temporarily out of order. There is nothing in the universe except him, bending over this bed, and Harry, three fingers deep in Louis’ ass. Harry expertly works his fingers in and out until finally he’s sure Louis is ready to take a cock.

Leaning down again to whisper into Louis’ ear, he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you now, baby? Tell me how much you want it. I want to hear you say it.” Louis, feeling half-drunk already from the sensation of Harry’s fingers, begins in a whisper that gradually increases in volume. “I want it…I want it so bad. Harry…I need you inside me. Please.” The last word holds a note of desperation that makes Harry’s stomach flip-flop. He is so used to letting Louis take the lead, used to (happily, willingly) giving up control, and this new experience of reducing Louis to a compliant, desperate, pleading version of himself has Harry so hard it’s painful, and on such an adrenaline high that he can barely keep it together enough to tell Louis what to do. Harry quickly strips off his clothes, grabs the bottle of lube, makes a proper mess of slicking himself up. All the while, Louis obediently remains bent over the bed, legs parted. His slick hole is exposed and his flushed cock dribbles pre-come on the bedsheets. Harry uses one hand to spread Louis’ cheeks and the other to guide his cock into position. “Ready?” he asks, and there’s a slight tremor in his voice that belies the tough, dominant persona he has been cultivating since the hotel room door closed behind them.

At Louis’ whispered, “Fuck, yes,” Harry begins to push in. He goes slowly, pausing every few seconds to let Louis adjust. Finally, when Harry is fully inside, he grips Louis’ hips and begins to move in short, gentle bursts. Louis groans in pleasure. He feels so full, and the head of Harry’s cock is just beginning to brush his prostate. After several minutes Harry is still moving slowly, so slowly it’s almost torture. “Faster,” Louis orders — or does he beg? — and Harry asks, “Are you sure?” In response, Louis slams his ass back onto Harry’s dick and rasps out, “I want you to fuck me into the mattress.” Harry needs no further encouragement. He grips Louis’ hips harder and begins to thrust, roughly and relentlessly. Harry’s head tilts back and he can’t stop a litany of words from escaping his lips. “Fuck, Louis…you feel so good. You’re so tight…gonna make me come so fast.”

Harry is now hitting Louis’ prostate, insistently, with every thrust, and electric shocks of pleasure start to fire in Louis’ brain. He is gasping and chanting a barely-coherent string of words as he rides Harry’s cock. “Oh god, Haz, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good. I need it. I need you. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Louis pleads, and it sounds like a prayer. It’s not just the sensation of fucking Louis, but the words that are pouring from his mouth, that pushes Harry to the brink. Quickly, he reaches down, takes Louis in hand and begins jerking him off in time to the thrusts. Louis makes a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a sob and, in seconds, he comes, spilling over Harry’s fist and onto the bed. As he comes, he drops down to his elbows, spreading his ass wider. The change in angle and the contraction of every muscle in Louis’ body as he orgasms send Harry over the edge. Before he has time to pull out, he’s coming so hard he can’t breathe, and then he collapses on the bed, taking Louis down with him.

They lie there, in silence, for several moments, bodies and emotions tangled together. Harry can’t resist sneaking a finger down to feel his own come leaking out of Louis. Louis shudders, overstimulated, but doesn’t tell Harry to stop. Harry looks completely wrecked, but that doesn’t stop him from sinking his teeth into Louis’ shoulder, grinning, and then licking the spot where his teeth imprints remain. He leans in close, lips brushing Louis’ ear, and quietly says, “I love you.”

Louis freezes. It’s the first time Harry has said that to him since…since everything changed. Back then, Louis told himself that Harry didn’t really mean it; that it was just a schoolboy crush he’d eventually forget. Louis knows now that Harry has always meant it; every word of it, every time. His heart thuds painfully. Despite the way they’ve been carrying on for the past few months, he’s still been able to avoid addressing the long-term implications. Now, no matter how he responds, this will be a turning point. This is the moment when Louis has to decide if he’s all in. Harry is; he always has been. In a sudden flash of utter clarity, Louis realizes that the things he’s always thought were important don’t really matter at all when he compares them to Harry. What other people think, what the journos will write in the papers, the things the paps will shout at him, what social media says — it’s nothing. It’s just background noise. The only thing that means anything, the only thing that’s real, is this beautiful, authentic, gentle soul next to him, and the fact that he, Louis, is lucky enough to be the one Harry picked. “Out of the billions of people in the world, he loves me,” Louis thought, and the idea is so absurd and unbelievable and exhilarating that he laughs out loud, even as tears fill his eyes. He rolls over to face Harry, who’s looking scared and heart-wrenchingly vulnerable. Louis smiles fondly, kisses Harry’s cheek, and whispers, “And I love you back.”


End file.
